


Daddy Was No Union Man (But I Was)

by Goethicite



Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Genderswap, Mild Language, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:51:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goethicite/pseuds/Goethicite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe next door, Arlo Givens named the baby Raylan, because, if he couldn't have a boy, he could remind everybody that it wasn't his choice. (A series of snapshots to be expanded.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Johnny's Bar

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching Justified late at night while finishing up some work and thought 'If it had been socially acceptable, I bet Boyd Crowder would have run after Raylan Givens.' Thus, snapshots of a different world invaded my brain. This is a world where Boyd Crowder fell in love, and society told him yes. Where Raylan Givens is laconic and angry but never lonely. And Harlan County is about to explode.

It was Tuesday when the rattletrap Chevy truck rolled into Harlan on the road from Lexington. No one marked it. Unusual to see a strange truck in these parts but not unheard of. Especially when the truck pulled into Johnny's and two men jumped out. One wore a white cowboy hat. The other's dark hair stood up in messy spikes. They strode into the bar together.

"Johnny," the hatless man yelled into the quiet bar. "Where are ya, son?"

Johnny Crowder appeared from the back room, looking around to see who was shouting. His eyes went wide when he saw the hatless man. "Jesus Christ hisself, Boyd?" He half-ran around the bar to embrace his cousin in a bear hug. "Where ya been, boy? You up and vanished after Kuwait."

Boyd slapped Johnny's shoulder right back, laughing. "Been blowing shit up and getting married, Johnny. What else?"

"Married?" Johnny turned to the man in the hat. She had already pulled it off and finger combed her hair out of her face. Her plaid shirt gapped to the waist from the front, showing her not inconsiderate bust beneath a white tank top that the loose shirt camouflaged. "Holy shit, is that you Raylan?"

Raylan Givens gave Johnny a crooked smile. "Hello, Johnny, been awhile."

"Been twenty years on," Johnny replied, dazed. "I ain't never thought to see you again, girl. Not after that row you and your daddy had." He stuck out his hand and shook Raylan's firmly. "You married my good for nothin', inbred cousin?"

With a more honest smile, Raylan glanced over at Boyd. "I surely did, Johnny. Best mistake I ever made."

Johnny took a step back to look at the two of them. Raylan in her men's shirt and cowboy boots. Boyd in torn Carhartts and work boots and t-shirt with only the idea of a logo not washed off. "I ain't sure which one of you is crazier. Last time I saw both of youse at once, you twose was trying to murder each other after Raylan beat her daddy bloody."

"Ten years is a lot of thinkin'," Boyd replied, sliding an arm around his wife's waist. "Even for a Givens. Three whiskies, cousin. We're celebratin'."

In a daze, Johnny went back behind the bar and got three glasses and a bottle of Jim. He poured three drinks. Boyd raised his, "To kin comin' home," he said. Raylan snorted but joined the toast.

Pouring another round, Johnny glanced back and forth between Harlan's prodigal sons. Raylan Givens may have been born a woman, but her daddy had beat it out of her before she was old enough to know what a lady was. By the time Johnny had met her, she and Boyd had been working in the mine together. And black faces all looked the same over coal smudged coveralls. Boyd and Raylan had been inseparable from the day they started digging coal with each other to the day Raylan had left Harlan in a seven-hundred dollar Ford pick up with a duffel in the back.

Boyd had been heartbroken enough that Bo had threatened to beat it out of him. Instead of taking a page from Raylan's book, Boyd had become a powderman at the mine. Then, out of the blue, taken his taste for cordite and packed it up to the army. Bo had been furious. Johnny had just been relieved his cousin had gotten out from under his daddy's bootheel. Now that Boyd was back, there was going to be hell to pay when Bo found out. Especially when the rumormill got to working, and everyone knew that Boyd had married Raylan Givens.

Johnny opened his mouth to comment, but Boyd meet his eye and shook his head. They knew what was coming, but Boyd didn't want to talk about it in public. Instead, Johnny turned his gaze back on Raylan.

"You been to see Helen yet, Raylan?" Johnny asked. Then the horrible thought hit him. "You did tell Helen you married Raylan, didn't you, Boyd?"

"Called her after we went to the court house," Boyd reassured his cousin. "I ain't a damn fool, Johnny. Helen would've driven to Utah to shoot me in the ass if I didn't let her know."

"We ain't been to see Helen yet," Raylan interrupted. Boyd sighed and let her lean forward on the bar. "Ain't just come to see you either, Johnny. You know where Bowman is?"

"Why on God's green earth to you want to see that asshole, Raylan?" Johnny didn't bother hiding his surprise. Bowman had hated Raylan as much as he'd been scared of her. And Boyd held little love and little regard for younger brother.

Raylan and Boyd shared a loaded glance. From her pocket, Raylan pulled out a black, leather wallet and flipped it open. A silver star sat next to an official name card. "These days I'm Deputy US Marshal Raylan Givens," Raylan said concisely. "Bowman Crowder is a person of interest in my investigation. I'd be much obliged if you'd tell me where he is."

Johnny stared in horror at Boyd, who was wearing a soft smirk that seemed reserved for Raylan alone. A Givens was a US Marshal, and she'd had the gumption to marry a Crowder. There was no way this was going to end without bloodshed. Mouth numb, Johnny told her about the church where Bowman, and his wannabe Nazi pals hung out. No point in trying to hide it. Then he looked at Boyd, "You tryin' to set this county aflame, Boyd. 'Cause you and that girl being together will tear this place apart."

Boyd handed his wife her hat as they stood. "Never had a problem playin' with fire, cousin. Surely ain't gonna start fearin' it now. Next time you see my daddy, say hello for me." He reached down and twined his fingers with Raylan's. Hand in hand, they walked out of the bar.

Johnny poured himself another drink and raised a silent toast to Harlan County. Lord knew how long it would stay standing now.


	2. Art is a Manipulative Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan Givens took the job because Art Mullen asked. He really didn't understand the implications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raylan never went to Miami full-time in this 'verse, because she never got divorced. She stayed at Glynco and had twin girls instead.

Raylan Givens was not a happy woman. Her right palm itched for the textured grip of her Glock. A useless reflex in this situation. "I really do not see how transferring to Lexington would help my career, Art." Her anxiety made her accent more pronounced. She nipped the tip of her tongue trying to soften it.

"I know you like being a shooting instructor, Raylan. The nine to five suited you when the twins were little, but I need good men in Lexington. Plus, aren't you from the area?" Art replied, rubbing his temples, trying to stave off a headache.

Raylan's generous mouth curved into a sneer. "I was born in Harlan. Fought tooth and nail to get out of that holler for a reason, Art. Same as my man. I come back a lawman, trailing my husband and two girls, and there will be trouble. Mark my words."

Art let out a bark of laughter. "Raylan, you'd bring trouble through the gates of heaven, girl. It's a pay increase and a promotion. Take it, and be happy." Scowling, Raylan scrawled her name on the paperwork. Art double-checked the everything was filled out. "Take the rest of the day off. Go talk to your husband and girls."

"Sure thing, Art," Raylan all but spat out. She snatched her hat and jacket off the coat rack and strode out of the office with the other marshals scattering in front of her like birds before a thunderstorm.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Raylan and Boyd met, and Dickie Bennett ended up with a bum knee.

"Where's Mama?" Frances demanded, muffled by the thumb in her mouth. She sat petulantly on the closed toilet lid in her kitten pajamas. Boyd had placed her there to keep an eye on her while he finished bathing Mary Helen.

Mary Helen sighed pointedly. Frances was the more vocal of the twins. Boyd had read that the more dominant twin had to be taught not to bully the more passive twin. But, in his experience, Frances may have called the shots aloud, but Mary Helen made the decisions. If Frances was demanding answers, they were both worried about Raylan. "Mama's at work, Francie. She'll be home after she's caught the bad guys."

Boyd lifted Mary Helen out of the warm water and toweled her off. She'd picked out the Batman pajamas Art had gotten her for her birthday. Slipping her into them was easier than getting Frances dressed. Mary Helen didn't try to wiggle out of his arms. "When will she be home," Frances insisted, hopping off the toilet to step up onto the stool to brush her teeth first.

"I don't know, baby," Boyd sighed, stroking Mary Helen's hair dry as Frances dutifully scrubbed her teeth. "Mama didn't tell me when she called before dinner."

"She promised to tell us a story," Mary Helen said abruptly. "We can't go to bed until she comes home."

Boyd sighed, setting her down to brush her teeth. "What story was Mama gonna tell you?"

Frances finished wiping the suds off her face. "She was gonna tell us about Marshal Givens and Deputy Crowder."

A smile pulled the corner's of Boyd's mouth up unconsciously. "How about I tell you how Marshal Givens and Deputy Crowder met? The you two can go to bed and see Mama in the morning."

The twins looked at him suspiciously, giving each other the loaded looks that made Raylan complain they were psychically plotting together. "Fine," Frances said. "You tell us how the Marshal and the Deputy met, and then we'll go to bed." She sounded just like her mother making a deal with a suspect.

"Sounds good, Deputy Frances," Boyd replied with a fond smile, picking up a twin on each hip. He walked them down the hall to the neatly sectioned off room. Frances' side was done up in blue and red. Mary Helen's things were all purple and green. It clashed horribly, but it made them happy. He tucked them into beds on either side of the room and turned off all the lights except the star projecting nightlight Raylan had bought when they were babies. Settling in the old rocking chair, he creaked it back and forth as he began to tell the story.

"Before Marshal Givens was the fastest gun in the west, and Deputy Crowder had built them a house at Sundown Ranch, they were just two kids growin' up in a one-horse, old minin' town. The coal in the mountains was the only money in the town except for highway robbery and other evil deeds. Now, the Marshal and the Deputy were both born into bandit families, see. And these two families were feudin' something terrible throughout both the lawmen's growin' up. They didn't really know each other except for hat-tippin' until the night of the Halloween hoe-down…"

_It seemed like all the teenagers in the holler had invaded the clearing in the woods where boxes of beer and glasses of shine had been stacked on old tree stumps. Pick ups ringed the bonfire site with their doors open and radios blasting. Boyd popped the top off another beer from Johnny's cooler and stared off into the crowd with bemusement. Johnny was hanging out with his baseball buddies, hitting on the ladies softball team. The girls were flushed with alcohol and giggling prettily._

_Seeing him watching, Johnny jumped up into the pickup bed to sit next to his cousin. "You ain't interested in meetin' those fine ladies, cousin?" he inquired, only slurring slightly._

_Boyd snorted. "Don't see many ladies here, Johnny." He was watching the Bennett boys harass a tall, handsome girl in a white tank top with oil stains. She wore the same heavy work boots as Boyd himself._

_Following his gaze, Johnny snorted. "That's Arlo Given's girl. She's on the track team. Too stuck up for the likes of us."_

_Watching her drunkenly shove Dickie Bennett away, Boyd suspected she wasn't so much 'stuck up' as smart enough not to get herself pregnant and tied down in this holler. Not that Dickie seemed to appreciate the difference. He shoved her hard, trying to get her in the bed of the pick up. Only to miss severely. The girl's head bounced off the side of the tailgate with a crack. Her hands flailed across the bed of the truck grasping for a handhold._

_There were dark streaks down the side of her face as she grasped the handle of Dickie's baseball bat. Boyd felt himself drop his beer and start running over. Dickie was saying something, but the girl didn't care. She smashed the baseball bat into Dickie's knee with a sickening thump. Dickie screamed, a weak, high pitched animal wail of pain as he toppled to the ground. The Given's girl straightened unsteadily, her face blank as the dead. She pulled back for another swing at Dickie's knee before Boyd was within arms reach._

_Boyd managed to catch the bat on the third swing. Before it could hit Dickie in the head. The gimlet-eyed stare that the girl was giving him made his stomach churn. "Sweetheart, he's done," Boyd said gently. "Why don't you put the bat down." There was no change in her expression, but she let him tug the bat out of her hand. There was blood coming down the side of her face in thick ribbons from where the tailgate had split her scalp._

_The radios were still going, but everyone was silently staring at the Given's girl with blood on her face and Dickie Bennett screaming and moaning at her feet. So Boyd reached out and took her hand. "I'll take you home, girl."_

_"Raylan," the girl replied distantly, "my name is Raylan Givens, and my aunt's place is safer."_

_"I'm Boyd Crowder," Boyd introduced himself, tugging her towards his pickup. She padded after him obediently. He suspected she was hurt worse than was obvious. This looked a lot like shock. Only without the shakiness or weakness Boyd expected. He had a feeling if he'd hadn't stopped her, Raylan would have beaten Dickie to death then walked to her aunt's. "Why don't you sit down," he urged her into the passenger seat before running around to the bed and digging a handful of dirty rags out of his tool box. Her aunt could clean the cut on her head later, Boyd figured, pressing the mass to where the blood had made the largest splotch in her hair. "You keep pressure on that, Raylan Givens. Don't want you bleeding all over the upholstery."_

_Raylan scowled at him, fierce for the blood dripping on her cheeks. "I know how to handle a damn head wound, Crowder. Don't need you tellin' me."_

_Boyd held up his hands defensively. The realization of what he'd done was only now sinking in as he stared at the girl. Raylan Givens had been intending to murder Dickie Bennett. And now she was in his truck with his grease rags pressed to her head to keep the blood off his seats. "I suppose not," Boyd said calmly, refusing to be shaken. He walked around the front to get behind the wheel. "Where's your aunt's house?"_

_"Swallow Tree Road," Raylan replied, leaning back into the seat. "Red house." With her free hand, she probed at her face like she was checking for further bruising. There was a practiced air about the motion which Boyd could sympathize with._

_"Okay then, Raylan," Boyd replied, turning the engine over until it caught. "Let's get you home." He pulled away from the firelight and down the rutted dirt track leading back to the county road. Raylan's breathes were loud in quiet cab. Boyd had left the radio off, and it seemed too late to turn it on now without startling her. So he listened to her breathe and watched her breasts shift under her tank top in his peripheral vision._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's gonna be a hell of phone call home when Raylan gets around to it.

Ava Crowder stared down at her husband's body. "Goddamit," Raylan Givens hissed over by the sink. Bowen had grazed her before she'd shot him dead. Ava couldn’t look away from the dark red and glistening offwhite puddle that was her husband's head. Raylan had put three bullets in Bowen's head quick as chain lightning. She'd done it before Ava could, to keep Ava from having to. Just like when Ava was fourteen and Bowen had gotten her drunk and shoved his hand up her skirt. Raylan had broken his nose then. The memory of Raylan sitting in the driver's seat of her old truck, sucking the blood off her knuckles still made Ava's stomach shiver with want.

This blood just made Ava sick. Red soaked the bottom half of Raylan's tank top, but the fine red droplets on the other woman's face were Bowen's blood...again. "He's dead," Ava told Raylan dumbly with her tongue numb and awkward between her teeth. "You shot him."

"Darlin', what the hell did you want me to do? Give him a ticket?" Raylan's exasperated snarl broke Ava out of her trance. Ava looked at the marshal and turn beet red as tears burned her eyes. "Oh Jesus," Raylan muttered. "Jesus, girl, don't you cry. Come 'ere." Raylan's arms were was strong and warm as Ava remembered from a stolen kiss the night Raylan had rescued her all those years ago. Ava set the shotgun on the table and pressed her palms to Raylan's smooth cheeks, standing on her tiptoes like she was fourteen all over again. Raylan's calloused fingers pressed to the small of Ava's back to steady the younger woman.

This kiss was much briefer than their first one. Though Ava was sober and surer this time. Raylan pulled away before it could be consider anything more than chaste. "Ava," the marshal said quietly, "I'm a married woman and got two girls who are worse than their daddy for grudges."

Ava sniffled and pressed her face into Raylan's good shoulder. "Doesn't mean I don't wonder, Raylan. If I'd asked when you left, would you've taken me with you?"

Raylan's mouth pressed into thin line, but she answered honestly. "Probably. Probably would've fallen in love with you, took care of your babies, and bought you a house by the ocean. But life ain't made of probablys. Boyd came huntin' me. You did not."

"My mistake," Ava said quietly into the soft flannel of Raylan's shirt. She pressed one hand into the hot blood on Raylan's side. "I'll get some towels." As she pulled out the folded lengths of cotton, she saw dark spots on them even though she'd washed the rags just yesterday. It took her a moment to realize that she was crying, and the tears were dripping down onto the towels. Ava stared blankly at the little water spots until Raylan's red streaked hand appeared in the corner of her eye and tugged them away.

"Oh, baby, your just a mess," Raylan sighed, pressing the towels to her side and drawing Ava into a one armed hug. "Sit down. I've to call Art and explain this clusterfuck. Christ." She led Ava over to a chair urged the other woman to sit down.

 

Ava let herself be settled, leaning against Raylan's good hip so the other woman could make the call. Bowen's glassy eyes stared at her accusingly, and she pressed closer in Raylan. There'd be hell to pay when his daddy found out. Even if Raylan had mothered Boyd's children. Ava gripped the other woman's thigh convulsively and started praying.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have a shared history. Not all of it is sad, not all of it is happy, but somethings are just a force of nature.

Raylan dreamed about the deep rumble, like the earth herself was protesting, right before the ceiling came in. She drags Boyd to the rib of the mine where the black coal shines dully in the light of their headlamps. Coal dust fills the air and chokes her lungs tasting like dead things. Boyd's body molds to her front even as her spine curves to fit against the wall. It's a soft, useless shield between her and the slabs coming down and burying them alive. Her knuckles scrap Boyd's cheek as she drags up her dust mask, eyes burning from the coals dust and play of light through the black, swirling clouds. A dump breath through the filter just makes the air hot and moist. She can't be sure they're not drowning in the earth's bones. Boyd's dark eyes are looking through her then vanish completely as she tries not to scream. Left alone in the coal seam with the air burning up.

Boyd woke when he felt his wife shaking. Raylan was a solid sleeper, especially when she'd been drinking, but there's nights when the memories get their claws in her. He leaned over to wake her with hand on her back. She came up swinging. "Godammit, Boyd!" The raw fear in her voice told Boyd what she was dreaming about. A hundred nightmares had Raylan crawling into his arms. Though they never talked about it. Only one made her look at her husband like he was devil that raged in her chest on the days she didn't come home from work.

Quickly stripping the bedcovers away, Boyd stood and made for the sink. He filled a plastic cup with tap water as Raylan slammed into the headboard, breathing hard. Her eyes were wide, furious like she'd never been gentled from her father's harsh blows. Boyd stood back. It'd been years since they'd come to blows, but Raylan wasn't quite herself after the nightmares. "Sweetheart," he whispered, "sweetheart, you know where we are?" He kept his voice quiet in hopes that the girls wouldn't wake up to see their mother lost in her own head.

Raylan's knuckles were white against the dark bunches of cotton sheets they were curled around. The whites of her eyes were visible in the faint reflection from the street lights outside. Boyd held his breath as she reached out one, shaky hand to turn on the lamp. The bright, white bulb flared to life draining any semblance of color from Raylan's skin. The fact she even remember how to use the lamp was encouraging. "We're in our bedroom in fuckin' Lexington," Raylan drawled wearily, her anger thick and apparent. "Fuck me. Is that water?"

"Yeah," Boyd replied softly, handing over the mug as he sat next to Raylan on the bed. "Keep that down and I'll get you something stronger." He kept his fingers over Raylan's to still the trembling and keep her from spilling the water. Raylan bent her head to take a sip. Her hair was getting long, and the bangs tumbled into her eyes. It didn't hide how wide her pupils were blown from the adrenaline. "The mine?"

Raylan coughed as she finished the last of the water. "Yep," she replied succinctly. "Whiskey?" There was a slight shake in the words. Her drawl layered thickly over each syllable like it only did when she was drunk, exhausted, or enraged. Boyd would have preferred to wrap her up in his arms. She wasn't a small woman, his wife. Even without her hat and boots she could pass as a man from the right angle just from the breadth of her shoulders. It almost made holding her easier for Boyd. He never feared breaking her physically like he had some of his high school girlfriends. Right now, holding Raylan would get him hit.

So he stood and padded to the liquor cabinet in the living room to get the requested whiskey. Wild Turkey was her poison of choice. He poured two fingers into a coffee mug. The bulky ceramic would be easier for Raylan to grip. He poured a glass for himself as well and took both back to the bed room. The t-shirt and old boxers Raylan wore to sleep were laying in a heap on the floor. The soft sound of running water drifted out from the bathroom. She was in the shower. The glass door which led to the deep stall was open leaving a fine spray on the bathmat.

The open door was invitation enough that Boyd felt comfortable stripping out of his own pajamas and bringing the drinks into the shower. He closed the door to the shower by hooking it with his elbow. Raylan stepped out of the spray and took her mug. It didn't make Boyd happy to watch her drain it like she was doing a shot without flinching. But he was used to it and sipped from his own drink. The water was lukewarm, enough heat to be comfortable but cool to the skin.

Raylan propped the mug in the shower caddy and brushed the water off her eyes. Her eyes were the same dark, thoughtful brown as the lignite they sometimes found when up near the surface of the mine. Some people mistook it for muddy coal, ugly and dirty. It also was a prime candidate for spontaneous combustion. "Fuck," she said quietly, eyes flashing in frustration.

Boyd drained his own glass and put it next to Raylan's. "Darlin'," he said, rolling the word out over his tongue. Raylan turned to face him, and Boyd found it hard to breath. Unlike most people, Raylan had never been body shy. Not even back at the mine when some of the men had harassed her by invading the manager's bathroom she used to shower and change. Boyd had gone as well to ensure things didn't get out of hand. It was the first time he'd seen Raylan naked, with the heavy curves of her breasts dripping water and the endless length of her lean, powerful legs. She'd snap-kicked one of the men into the wall. The other she had picked up and thrown into his friend and Boyd by the front of his coveralls like something out of a kung-fu movie. Then, he'd scrambled for the door before she could slam her heel into his head like she had to one of the others.

Now, Raylan was his wife. He could look his fill at the way her hips flared out from her waist. Her shoulders were muscled well for a woman. The cut of them dropping down to her breasts was beautiful juxaposition of power and softness. "You got a storm in yer head, girl," he said quietly, feeling the stirring in his stomach a mixture of lust and old, sinful pride that this was his. "Gonna blow through the holler and leaving nothin' left standin'."

The mother of his children, who'd gunned a man down at eight months pregnant to protect another marshal, gave Boyd a crooked smile. "An' yet, here you stand, Boyd Crowder."

"I ain't ever managed to stand when it comes to you, Raylan Givens," Boyd disagreed, reaching out to trace a drop of water along the side of her face. "As I recall, I spend most days runnin' for cover." The kiss wasn't unexpected. Raylan moved like greased lightning on a hot day even without a gun, but Boyd didn't flinch anymore. Her mouth tasted whiskey, hard water, and blood. 

Boyd's hands slid over Raylan waits, holding her close. "We'll need to be quiet. The girls…"

"Yeah," Raylan agreed wryly, scratching at his chest. "Promise not to scream down room this time." The job and the kids didn't leave much time for conjugals. It had been almost a week and a half since Boyd had even had his wife alone and conscious.

"If you don't, I gotta gag you," Boyd leered a happily, kissing her neck to get a giggle. The nightmare seemed to be forgotten with the promise of sex and more whiskey. They should probably talk about it, but that wasn't Raylan's style. And God knew if Boyd wanted to change her, he wouldn't have married her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan loves her girls. Only a fool would claim otherwise, but she's better at some parts of mothering than others. And Mags Bennett meets the Givens girls.

Mags Bennett had been in town when they'd taken the girls to see Helen. Arlo was already at the bar. It being a Saturday. He knew better than to come home before dark when his granddaughters were at the house. Raylan would shoot him on sight for breathing near her girls, and Boyd would bury his body in the hills. Helen had agreed to the arrangement to keep from making the drive to Lexington to visit.

Boyd had been puttering around the place cleaning up Arlo's attempts at home repair while Raylan and Helen took the girls for ice cream. It was a ritual Helen insisted on. Apparently, she'd taken Raylan for ice cream when Raylan's mama had sent her away from Arlo for awhile. Now, she took Frances and Mary Helen to the same gas station and bought them the same vanilla cone their mama used to eat.

Raylan would put her hat on one of the girls' heads and her badge on the other's belt. Then she'd prop her head against Helen's shoulder like she was still twelve and eat a chocolate cone with the children. Boyd was usually there with his own cone and watching his girls. That day, Arlo had put a hole in the drywall which needed fixing.

Helen called from the pre-paid cell Raylan had given her. "Raylan's gonna kill Dickie Bennett. Doyle and his mama are here too. You gotta come get your woman, boy. 'Fore she finishes this." The cool terror in her voice told Boyd more loudly than her words that she was deadly serious.

The pickup rattled Boyd's teeth down the holler road. He went as fast as he dared. The first time Raylan had taken three swings with a baseball bat to get close to murder. She'd gotten more practice since then. Boyd could only pray to the Almighty Raylan would hold back for her daughters' sake, and the Bennetts had the good goddamn sense not to get anywhere near Mary Helen, Frances, or Helen with Raylan's blood up.

Unsurprisingly, a crowd had gathered to watch. Helen was in the Bronco with the girls, scattergun in her lap. Frances, white hat perched on her head, and Mary Helen were curled around each other on the floor in the backseat. Boyd pulled the pickup next to Helen's vehicle and killed the engine. He waved at her as he ran towards the crowd. Raylan had Dickie by the throat up against Dickie's own truck. Her face was the distant sort of amused he associated with watching her daddy bleed out as Dickie choked against her fingers.

With the sort of impunity that would end in any other man's death, Boyd strode forward and rabbit-punched his woman in the kidneys. It wasn't hard enough she'd piss blood, but she gagged and lost her grip on Dickie's throat. Boyd got his arms around her at the elbows in a bear hug. "Dickie, if you got a lick of the sense your mama has, run," he barked at the dazed man.

Dickie was always dumb as shit. He tried to kick Raylan. Boyd stepped back and let her have couple more punches before hauling her in by the belt. "Dickie," he repeated, swinging his wife around as she aimed an elbow at him. They'd dusted up enough times when they were younger for him to be able to dodge when she was this angry.

This time Dickie was wise enough to turn tail and run before Boyd let Raylan go. Raylan swung around, furious and shaking with it. "Get outta my way, Boyd. He tried to touch Frances."

"I didn't mean nothin' by it," Dickie sputtered. "It was jus' the hat!"

"Shut up," Megs said sharply, finally entering the conversation. "You did a damn fool thing reachin' for a woman's child like that Dickie. You're lucky Boyd here is so reasonable." When Dickie tried to protest, she landed a heavy-handed slap across his face. "Get outta here, boy."

Raylan stepped forward like she was following him. Boyd slung her back with an arm around her waist. It was a liberty she would shot over, expect for him and maybe Art. "He's had it, woman," Boyd said carefully. "Let it go. The girls are scared."

Raylan breathed out like it was a demon leaving her body. "Frances, Mary Helen?"

"Here, baby girl," Helen called. "I got'em." She'd gathered both of the girls and herded them towards there mother as soon as the fight was over.

Dropping to her knees, Raylan embraced her daughters, kissing their hair and sighing with relief. Frances was pale but steady in her mama's hat shading her dark gaze. She was her daddy's girl with her mama's heart before Arlo twisted it up. Mary Helen was furious. Her thin, half-grown limbs trembled with adrenaline and her muddy, green eyes glittered. It scared Boyd a little. They were identical twins, taking after their mother's handsome features and his dark hair. The doctor said less than two percent of identical twins had different eye colors, but the only thing it proved was Raylan's daughters were as remarkable as their mother. Boyd had hoped both of them escaped the darkness in his own soul and the borderline bloodlust their mother had in her worst moments.

Mary Helen's eyes as she watched Dickie Bennett run weren't lit with the same dead light as her mother's. Given a few bad years and heartbreaks, Boyd expected that would change. He stepped between his daughter and the fleeing man. Best not to tempt the wolf with the scent of blood, even if she was just a pup. Raylan had feared coming back here. Harlan had made a pretty, little thing into a cowboy with a taste for violence. Boyd didn't particularly care to think of what it had made of him. Now, it was creeping into their daughters.

"Come on, Raylan," he said, gathering up his girls with gentle nudges. "We need to head out before Doyle gets it in his head to make this a legal matter."

Raylan nodded mechanically, moving her gun forward on her belt, lifting her girls, one onto each hip like a pair of six guns. Their skinny legs knotted in the divot of Raylan's waist. Little hands grasped the collar of her shirt to hold themselves steady. It left Raylan's hands free to retrieve her hat and badge. The holster of her gun sat far forward nearly over the fly of her jeans. Boyd had seen her shoot from that draw before when the girls had been infants with one carrier on each side. Miami hadn't been full of happy memories.

Men stepped to the side for her like she was one of them. Mags smiled thinly at Raylan as they passed. "Got your daddy's temper, girl," she said with just enough mocking to send hackles up. Helen hissed in warning. Carelessly, Mags continued, "Use it better than him though."

Raylan went stiff, lips curling up into a snarl. Boyd stepped forward quickly, "Now, Mags, I think there's been enough blood shed for one day. Don't you?"

Mags just smirked as Raylan climbed into the pickup, not bothering with a seat belt or to untangle the girls. Boyd climbed in the driver's seat slowly. Helen's face fell as he started the engine. Raylan couldn't stay. It'd take her the rest of the weekend to calm down enough to be something like civilized for work on Monday. He stuck his head out the window, "We got the guest bedroom put together, Helen. I'd be obliged if you came by tomorrow. We missed your fried chicken."

Helen nodded, "I'll be there, Boyd." She waved at the girls. Frances waved back as Boyd revved the engine and pulled out onto the road with the back end in a controlled fishtail, leaving Harlan behind as fast as he dared.


End file.
